


Warmth

by lordmouthed (AgnesAgathaAgrippina)



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: (if you squint), Daddy Kink, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesAgathaAgrippina/pseuds/lordmouthed
Summary: “There, there, just a scrape,” Thursday said in his baritone. His deep timbre felt like the only sound in the dingy bathroom. It echoed in Morse’s ears.





	Warmth

The warm water stung on Morse’s left cheekbone. Thursday patted the wet cloth over his wound as Morse winced.

“There, there, just a scrape,” Thursday said in his baritone. His deep timbre felt like the only sound in the dingy bathroom. It echoed in Morse’s ears.

Morse’s dress shirt and trousers were slung off into the corner of the room, leaving his lower half covered only by his shorts and a bandage wrapped around his badly bruised knee. His left arm was covered in antiseptic-soaked gauze, under which lie a similar scrape to the one on his cheek.

Morse could hardly remember when he last slept. Was it last night, or the night before? Every record of the past forty-eight hours was lost in his foggy head; even the chase that led to his current injuries felt hazy. But now he could feel the cool tile under his feet and the warm washcloth on his cheek, so he held onto the feelings, grounding himself in their surety.

Morse winced again as Thursday lightly scrubbed with the cloth.

“Just let me get the last of the grit out of here,” Thursday mumbled to him.

“Thank you, sir.”

Morse sat on the closed toilet seat while Thursday hunched across from him on a chair that had been dragged in for the purpose. Their legs, nearly interlocked, were barely touching. Each time Thursday shifted, Morse could feel the rough texture of his trousers on his bare skin; it exhilarated him. Although his body was tired, his nerves tingled with a hypersensitivity he only found in moments of injury. Every sensation felt amplified, as if his skin were the transmitter of a telegraph wire, and his very core the receiver.

Thursday’s touches were gentle, so gentle, to Morse; His hands were cracked with years of callouses, but Morse only felt their size and warmth. With each stroke of terrycloth Morse felt the raw pain of his skin, but soon the comfort of Thursday’s fingers overtook the pain, until his ministrations were the only sensation Morse could focus on. He counted on the rhythm of Thursday’s hands, nearly swaying into each touch, chasing the feeling until the next one followed. It was thrilling, sensual, _erotic_.

Morse did not consider the implications until he felt his member harden. He looked down and closed his eyes, hoping to god that Thursday wouldn’t notice the tent in the front of his pants. But when he chanced to look up, he met Thursday’s eyes.

“It’s alright, lad. Perfectly natural,” Thursday told him in that steady voice. He patted Morse’s knee, then held his hand there. Morse felt as if it were on fire.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Morse’s voice was a faint whimper.

Thursday looked at Morse’s face, freckled and flushed from embarrassment.

“No need to be.”

Thursday’s hand was roaming again, stroking from Morse’s knee up along his thigh, and back down again, making a mesmerizing circuit, with each movement bringing his warm hand closer to Morse’s trapped erection. The cloth in Thursday’s other hand still rested on Morse’s face. Morse leaned into the sopping warmth.

He could fall asleep like this, except for his wired nerves. He had no will over his body anymore, no feeling but desire; he desired warmth, softness, relief. And so he lost himself in the feeling of Thursday’s hands, producing weak sounds in the back of his throat without any thought that he should attempt to contain them.

Thursday’s hand continued it’s tantalizing orbit. He didn’t know why he kept going, whether it was despite or because of Morse’s noises. He tried his best to ignore the clear eroticism of the sounds, instead relishing in the delusion that the whimpers were simply from residual pain. Thursday could embrace denial until Morse let out a full-throated moan, and his hips bucked up into Thursday’s hand.

Morse instantly tried to still himself, but could not stop his body from trembling. Thursday looked up at him, but his face was hidden under his mop of curly hair. His shoulders were shaking, but not from pleasure.

“Morse?”

“Sir.” Barely a whisper.

With the hand that held the now-cooling cloth, Thursday tilted Morse’s face to look at him. The young man’s delicate lashes brimmed with tears as his eyes filled with shame. His full lips were parted and panting, with a rosy color blotting his cheeks even more than before. Thursday assessed the situation.

“We’ll get you cleaned up, if that’s suitable,” Thursday asked.

“You don’t have to do that,” Morse sounded like he was holding down a sob. It made Thursday ache for him.

“I want to,” Thursday stared into Morse’s watery eyes with conviction. The hand on Morse’s thigh found the top of his shorts and pulled them down, revealing Morse’s flagging member among a scattering of tawny hair. Dots of white cum ran from his pink head down his shaft. Thursday looked up at Morse, checking for his permission.

“Please,” Morse whispered, pupils wide and unfocused.

Thursday pulled the waistband of the shorts down off his thighs and after a tangle in Morse’s long legs, they joined the rest of Morse’s clothes on the floor. He took the cloth in his hand to Morse’s crotch, gently letting the excess water fall down his shaft. Morse shivered. Thursday stroked the cloth up and down Morse’s cock, with only enough pressure to clean, not to tease—or so Thursday thought.

Morse conceded to the barrier of the cloth with grateful contentedness, enjoying the feeling of the terrycloth, until he was startled by the smooth warmth of skin brushing against his cock. Morse let out a soft “Oh”. The washcloth had ridden down on his shaft, exposing his pink head to Thursday’s bare hand. Morse expected Thursday to stop at once, but he continued his gentle caresses. The feeling was everything, it was worth chasing, worth embarrassing himself over.

Morse felt himself growing hard again under Thursday’s hand.

“A young man’s stamina,” Thursday said quietly. Perhaps Morse would have chuckled if he had heard, but his head was thrown back with his pale neck exposed. Thursday could see his throat gulping.

The cloth was uncomfortably cool now anyway, so Thursday laid it on the side of the sink and took Morse’s member gently into his warm, bare hand.

“Yes, please, sir!” Morse exclaimed in a whisper. He brought his head up to face forward again as he felt Thursday’s rough warmth envelope him. His hair was mussed and his forehead was blistered with sweat. He looked blissed out beyond belief, as if he had no injuries or worries, far from the typical expression that Thursday saw on the young man. He watched as Morse’s face flushed, filled with pleasure. That was all he wanted to give to Morse, the young man whom he so rarely saw enjoying himself; And here was a way for Thursday to give him all the pleasure he deserved. He couldn’t resist wrapping another hand around Morse’s cock, licking it warm with his spit before rubbing it on the exposed head.

Morse moaned. “Thursday.” A whisper.

“I’m right here, son. Go on, you’re safe,” Thursday urged in a low and lusty tone. Their legs were touching and their breath mingled as they leaned forward towards each other.

“I’m… sir!” Morse stared into Thursday’s eyes as he began to orgasm. Thursday felt a short shot of cum erupt from Morse’s slit into his hand. Morse had to close his eyes against the intensity of the feeling. His hips bucked up into Thursday’s grasp as he shot more hot cum into his hands.

Thursday watched Morse come down from his high, observing his long eyelashes flutter on his speckled cheeks and his bare chest rise and fall, before he grabbed the cloth from the sink and cleaned the both of them. Morse panted as he leaned against the sink.

“Right,” Thursday moved to stand. “Time to get you off to bed.”

As he finished standing, Morse reached out and gripped the front of Thursday’s belt. Thursday didn’t understand immediately.

“Please, let me,” Morse pleaded.

“Do what?”

“Pleasure you. With my mouth,” The doe-eyed boy looked up into Thursday’s eyes.

“You don’t need to repay me,” Thursday smiled as he took Morse’s hands from his belt.

“It’s not about repaying you. I want—“

“You’re in no condition, Morse,” Thursday hauled him up partway by his arms, and they lumbered their way into Morse’s dark bedroom. The only light snuck in through the cracked bathroom door.

“There, get in the bed,” Thursday whispered as he leaned Morse onto the mattress.

“Sir, please,” Morse sounded so soft.

“It’s time for you to get some rest, Morse,” Thursday pulled the covers over him. He was about to walk away when he was struck by the pure neediness of the young man’s voice. He bent down and wisped Morse’s curls away from his forehead, leaving room for him to plant a kiss on his temple. Morse melted into the warmth of Thursday’s kiss, shutting his eyes, only for the lips to retreat.

Morse sniffled as he heard Thursday’s footsteps gaining distance from him. Thursday turned out the bathroom light on the way. Morse heard his flat door open.

“Call me, Morse, if you need anything,” Thursday told him—that voice again—before he shut the door.

Morse, alone in his bed, surrounded by utter silence, sobbed.

 

 


End file.
